The Rhydin Report
by Aubigne Spratling
Summary: Elithe Ravi is a lone CIA operative navigating her way through the dangerous city of Rhydin. Her only hope is Lokariste Fen, a conflicted garou who holds the keys to her past, and an unsuspecting future.
1. Background Information and Author's Cred

Background History: 

THE RHYDIN REPORT was born out of a rather intuitive, uncannily natural series of roleplaying games between myself and another individual, to whom the fascinating characterization -- minus a few quirks -- is credited. 

Unfortunately, I fell out of contact with my co-writer before the novella could be complete. It seemed an injustice to what we had built however, so I have taken it upon myself to revise and publish these works. 

So it is with great joy that I present them to you now. They are somewhat of a works-in-progress and will be added as soon as they are properly revised. As it was many years ago, I would never think to offer them in a way in which they would not do the story and its characters justice. 

Now, without further ado, I give you the first installment of: 

THE RHYDIN REPORT. 


	2. A Stranger in a Very Strange Land

THE RHYDIN REPORT

The blood cakes the cracked jewel-case, but the compact disc fortunately remains intact inside. As a bullet flies past, slightly grazing her ear, covert operative Elithe Ravi ducks for cover beneath a dilapidated overhang. The case is left behind. In a brief moment of silence, out of view of the assailant, she curses this mysterious locale and everything within it. Rhydin. She cannot wait to report back to her employer and get the hell out of here. 

Dialing her cellular phone, it is suddenly knocked clearly from her grasp by a gentleman from behind now intent upon strangulation. Reaching behind her, arms flailing a bit wildly from the surprise, she brings her knee into immediate contact with the man's nose, and he releases her to tend to it. Once again upon her feet, she retrieves a 9mm pistol from her jacket and fires a single shot into the man's forehead, square between the eyes. As he falls to the ground, she turns once more to the initial gentleman, also armed. He fires, nearly snagging her shoulder. She fires in reply, and the first gentleman collapses in a manner similar to the second. 

Replacing the firearm at her side, she takes a quick breath and lowers to the case, covered with a thin new film of fresh blood. She attempts to wipe a bit from it before placing it into her jacket pocket, but is alerted to a muffled voice apparently coming from the cellular phone. 

"Ravi?" It is insistent. "Ravi!" 

"Sir." 

"Ravi, what in God's name?" 

"Bradley," she says, a bit out of breath. "He's dead." She pauses, listening to the hysteria of the man at the other end of the line. She attempts once more, newfound composure. "Bradley is dead. The contact is dead. Do you hear me? The disc is in danger, and delivery is imminent." 

"Goddamn it." 

"Carter, I need a drop." 

"I don't have a drop," Nathan Carter, senior agent stationed in the Central Intelligence Agency offers plainly. "Look, it's over. You're going to have to find a way out of there." 

"No, Carter," she begins. "The ship sank, alright? It _sank_. There were less than fifty survivors. I have _nothing_." 

"Jesus." 

"I need a ticket." 

The man contemplates the risk of allowing his agent clear passage back into the United States - with dead agents, a failed mission, and without contacts or an alibi. But one thing was to be for certain: she could not retain that disc. 

"Find the local airport." 

"Arangoth… I believe. There's one in Arangoth." 

"Okay…" He pauses before continuing, activity at a keyboard. "You'll leave from Arangoth at 18:09 on Tuesday. We'll bring you home." 

"Thank you, sir." She breathes a sigh of relief. 

"Mmhmm. Be safe." The man disconnects. Looking about her at the three dead bodies - two by her own hand - the stench of the fresh blood within the air, and the darkness all around, it seems like the least likely sort of comfort to entertain. 

"Two. On the rocks." Elithe is greeted by noise and ruckus upon entering the small bar. "Hey, watch it!" She apologizes quietly to the woman whose drinks she nearly spilled through collision. This is a foreign world to her; she is quite the stranger in an all-too strange sort of land. 

Many eyes focus upon her, most of them male, a few, from disapproving females. They are fanged, or peculiarly dressed. Some have dried and cracked blood lining their lips. One in particularly flashes a particularly disturbing smile to her as she makes her way to the counter. Having her flesh torn apart is the last thing in the world she could possibly need now. 

"What can I getcha?" 

"A phone?" 

The bartender points carelessly to a telephone upon the wall in a darkened corner nearest to the exit. Aside from it is a rather explicit couple, the male's teeth planted firmly into the woman's neck, and only cries of ecstasy in reply. Wishing to avoid the scene altogether, she has no other option, as her cellular is clearly dying, and it is truly her lifeline now. 

Trying to drown out the woman's blissful wails with the loud music all about her, she gingerly approaches the telephone. Lifting it to her ear, the man, blood from his lips glinting in the dim lighting, turns to her with eager eyes. 

"Wanna threesome?" 

The thought is appalling. It is nearly too shocking to maintain her highly cultivated composure. Nearly. "I'd better not. Early rise tomorrow." 

The man nods in understanding and returns to his work. Her fingers begin to dial before she is abruptly thrown against the entire unit itself, a ringing in her ears as a result. The couple, now upon the floor, glare to the cause of the intrusion: the beginning of a bar brawl. And in a place like this, known for its… unusual types of people - human and not - this was no sort of altercation in which she ever wanted to be involved. 

Trying to politely excuse herself down the alleyway, she is again thrown into a wall by an unsuspecting blow. Now her patience is tried. The bartender struggles unsuccessfully to quiet the argument, but is only knocked unconscious behind the counter. Elithe stares in horror as one individual in particular walks straight toward her. Fumbling in her jacket for her firearm, she fears that due to a lack of nourishment, and too many days without sleep has finally begin to wear upon her concentration. She fires wildly, and he continues toward her, the horrid stench of decay upon his breath - human decay. 

This could only be one thing: awful. 

He continues toward her, his eyes growing curiously black. A gentleman from across the bar walks quickly toward the creature, calmly taunting him with a gesture to lay into him, posing a brief distraction. It's enough to allow Elithe to continue toward the door. Moments later the menacing individual cries out in pain, five distinct lacerations across his face. Alarmed by this sudden imagery, Elithe continues toward the door hoping again to never see the dreaded place again. 

But she never knew how right she could be. 

A nagging in her mind tells her to quicken her step, and upon doing so she soon finds herself across the street. A mere moment later, the building housing the small bar is engulfed in flames. The red heat laps at the blackened sky. Shock and alarm overwhelm her at once, but at the forefront of her mind is the mysterious gentleman who offered to lend her the hand which may have saved her life. And he was nowhere to be found. 

Paying little attention to the flames which demand to pull her inside, she struggles through the blackened smoke at the edge of the doorway, fighting back the blinding heat. Much to her curiosity, however, she is overtaken by a delusion which lifts her clearly off of her feet and has her staring rather blankly into eyes of crystal blue, curiously cold for the warmth of the arms which carry her back across the street. 

"You're just teeming with bad luck, aren't you?" 

Elithe clears her throat, now to her feet and examines the gentleman adjacent from her. These eyes belong to the same face which left that unbelievable wound across the offensive one back in the bar. Men, women, creatures of all kinds spill from its doors - some aflame, others covered with a thin layer of charcoal. Some will survive, others won't. Elithe regards them with a heavy heart. 

"Thank you," she offers to the gentleman, but he is a good distance from her now, casually heading down the street, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Hey!" She calls, jogging to keep pace with him. 

"Why don't you go? You're human. This is a bad place for you. Get out of here." He continues on his way, not even turning to face her. 

"You do realize that not even acknowledging someone is rude, don't you?" 

"I said you should go." He only turns to her in concluding the sentence, and his eyes flash something strange her way. Something clearly not human. Something full of menace. Something she shouldn't dare touch. It is almost enough to prevent her from continuing. Almost. 

"Don't I even get a name from my saviour?" 

He laughs. "Lady, I am not your saviour. Go home." 

"I can't. I'm not from around here." 

"That's obvious." He stops. "What I mean is go home. As in go to Arangoth, and leave." 

"Why?" 

He seems frustrated. Angry. Ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. This is dangerous ground she treads. 

"Why? Because you're not exactly very high on the food-chain around here, that's why." 

She sighs, folding her arms. "Oh, please." 

"Oh, please?" He laughs at her apparent gall. "Oh, please?" He sighs. "You…" He shakes a long finger at her. It appears slightly mangled in a strange sort of way. Mangled, but not deformed. Different somehow. She is curious. He pulls it from her view. "You have no idea how fortunate you are that I'm telling you to get the hell out of here, and not trying to take you home with me." 

She snickers at this. It did seem rather strange to her, given the attention she had received since her arrival in the strange place. "Yeah, I was kind of wondering about that." 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

"Well, it does seem kind of strange." 

"Oh, Jesus." 

"And I don't see why that makes me fortunate." Afterall, he seems a worthwhile asset. She needs something she can work, something that will allow her cover until Tuesday. Six days. She's used to having to work her wiles. This shouldn't be anything different. Although it certainly was proving a challenge. 

"Oh, please. Don't… look, don't do this." He sighs, running his fingers through slightly disheveled blonde hair. "You're very attractive, okay? Yes, you could have any guy you want, so… go back to where you came from and do that, okay? Do that and leave me alone. Don't do me any favours." 

"Why did you take that guy down? Why did you pull me away from the building? From the fire?" She pelts him with inquiries. 

"Argh, enough! I just did, alright?" He pauses. "Okay, you want the truth?" 

"Absolutely." 

"I did it because he was encroaching." 

She shakes her head plainly. Emotionless. "I don't understand." 

"Have you ever seen two ants fight over a tiny crumb of bread?" 

"Of course." 

"Okay. What happens? One ant, in an attempt to survive, to get the morsel, kills the other ant. Okay?" 

"…Right." 

"So. Pure and simple." 

"What does this have to do that anything?" 

He stares to her blankly, his eyes penetrating her soul. "It has to do with everything." 

She folds her arms, and rests her weight upon one leg so that the other peers seductively out from beneath her skirt. Her jet black high-heeled shoes perfectly accentuate the sculpted curvature of her calf. He shudders. 

"Tell me." She taunts. "Tell me how it has to do with everything." 

This is infuriating. He approaches her, his eyes slightly covered in the shade of their deep setting. "You want to know what will happen if I take you home?" 

Finally. He was beginning to break down into something she could work with. This was no challenge afterall. "I certainly do," she offers in coy reply. 

His voice lowers to a sultry rasp, his breath hot against her neck. "Alright," he begins, his fingertips light against her forearm, traipsing down to her wrist. "First, I'll lead you to the bath… where you can luxuriate in a collection of essential oils." 

"Mmm." Damn, this guy was good. Essential oils. Nice touch. She continues to play the part, careful to mind her own reactions. They must be perfectly calculated. Nothing unforeseen. 

"And then…" He continues. "With beads of water still glistening upon your skin, I'll lead you to the whirlpool in the den…" She struggles not to imagine its rejuvenating jets against her tired back, legs, and feet. "And, of course, turn up the heat." Without attention paid to her actions, she briefly closes her eyes, before suddenly being jolted back into the present. She couldn't lose her sense of control now. She's come so far. 

"… To scalding." He concludes. Her eyelids, again beginning to close, fly suddenly open. "Now, you see, the skin is pliable, easily removed." She blinks repeatedly, his hands still hot against her skin. "Sometimes, I bring it to a boil, but you… you'd be much more desirable… _live_." 

She suddenly pulls from him, her gun tightly within the grip of her other hand. "What… are you?" It is aimed, shakily, at his forehead. Between the eyes, that's all she needs. Just one between the eyes. 

"Oh, I see. It's gone from who to what. Well, why don't I give you a brief rundown?" 

"Sounds… like a good idea." She tries desperately to mask her fear. 

"Who I am, is Lokariste Fen. What I am, is a garou." 

"A what?" 

"A garou. I'm a werewolf. In your more common tongue." 

She laughs. "Oh, right. What I bet you are is some kind of a delusional serial killer." 

He shakes his head. "See, that's what bothers me. They don't have a need. I do." 

"Oh, they claim to have a need." The barrel still trains him. 

"Not like I do. _ Trust _me." 

"I'd rather die." Words to live by in her world. She quickly pauses her speech, and sighs. 

"Like I said, I could arrange that for you." He begins to wander off in the opposite direction. His words trailing behind him. "But I doubt you want it." 

She continues, the gun still aimed in his direction. "Then, why are you doing this, huh? Why are you walking away?" 

He pauses, turns, shrugs and calls back, "Call me a gentleman. I don't know!" He turns back, shaking his head and continuing on his way. "Get out of here." 

They're his last words, and they hang upon the thick night air. 

Covered in blackness, alone, away from the calamity, Elithe finally lowers the firearm. 

What had just happened here? What in the hell had just happened? Her heart races, and she wipes the perspiration off of her forehead with the back of her hand. He let her live, why? He was obviously able - and initially willing and intent - upon killing her. Why didn't he? He's strange. She's never liked strange. And she especially doesn't now. 

A car drives past, sloshing into a puddle. Elithe replaces her pistol back into her jacket, but not soon enough. A number of vampires with brilliant smiles seem to be vying for her attention. They appear to her like the most relentless, nightmarish sort of group of young men a woman could imagine. 

"Hey, baby." 

"Going my way?" 

"No." She turns to another. "And _no_." 

"You know, they say once you've had Drac, there's no going back." 

Despicable. If it were true, and this city truly _did_ crawl with the mysterious, the cursed, the damned and what have you, then these individuals were clearly descended from a long line of something they knew nothing of. As a result, they treated it as a birthright; like spoiled playboys with too much money and time. It was disgusting. Their culture was disintegrating around them, becoming filled with the kind of nonchalance and disposable psychology which ran rampant in her own society. It was… tragic. 

"There was no Dracula, boys," she offers. "Maybe instead of picking up unsuspecting young women and offering them lines, you ought to go out to the local library and read up on your heritage. Maybe you'll learn something." 

The three look to each other and laugh. Another points to her in a state of hysterical laughter. Finally, they wander off, thanking her for the best laugh they'd had collectively in years. Of course, that wasn't her intention. 

So now she sits upon the curb, plagued with thoughts of Lokariste, the most atypical portrait of a gentleman with which she'd ever come into contact. She catches the glances of random men and kindred walking by her, firing smoldering glances her way, others simply licking their lips, imagining her in such a way she was not used to and terrified. 

In such a way as Lokariste had so eloquently described while stroking her skin, against her wishes, her lips begging to even slightly meet his own. It was curious, and it was unnerving. 

"Well, desire certainly has no conscience, does it?" She asks a nearby tomcat - who flashes fanged teeth in reply. So much for being a sort of Alice in a bedraggled, menacing deviation of Wonderland. Even the feline species had a mean streak. It became quickly evident to her that she hadn't a friend in the world - and a world of cares upon her shoulders. 

Retrieving the disc from her jacket, she stares upon it with dejection. Her contact was dead, she is still skeptical of the intentions of her employer, and her only acquaintance in this strange land wished to consume her - and not in the ways in which she was familiar. 

With her head in her hands, she sighs. Another small band of young vamps passes through, cat-calling all the way with a group of indescribable creatures in tow. Both sets intent upon snagging her attention, she more fierce than ever on averting it. Lowering her hand to her pistol inside of her jacket, she blows a strand of matted strawberry blonde hair from her face. Her eyes catch the clock overhead. She sighs. With her cheek resting against her free hand, she stares blankly into a puddle upon the street, reflecting the flock of creatures. The din in her head is louder than their taunts and lines. Eventually, it all fades into a sort of abstract blackness, with distorted imagery and silent voices. 

At least dawn would be coming soon. 


	3. In The Clutches of Desperation

Around him are tribal works, and the carefree shouts of guests. But amid them, Lokariste remains idle, by himself, staring somewhat perplexed into oblivion. One of the gentlemen of the group arrives behind him and plants his overly hairy hand firmly upon his shoulder. It is wet. In fact, he's quite soaked. Lokariste numbly removes it from his shoulder. 

"C'mon, Lok. What are you pouting for? It's Friday night. Time to _par_-tay!" 

"Not in the mood." He brings his rolling desk chair back up to his computer keyboard. "Working." 

The other gentleman of like spirit sighs. "You're always working. Come on. Give yourself a break. Jesus, you've been this way ever since you got back from the bar. Anything happen?" 

"Nope," he lies. "Not a thing. Place just blew up." 

"Fuck!" 

"Yeah. Oh, well." 

"You mean it's gone? Completely? Oh my God, was anyone hurt?" 

"I don't know. I don't think so. I think everyone got out in time." The computer emits a sound of error and Lokariste grimaces. "Look, I really should get this done before Monday." 

"Don't tell me you're gonna be at that thing all weekend. Man, that would suck. Go get laid or something." 

"Not in the mood." 

"You haven't been in any kind of mood for weeks, man. And when's the last time you went on a good hunt, huh?" He nudges his shoulders. "It's been awhile, hasn't it? Come on, you know it has. Come on…" 

Lokariste rises suddenly from the chair, wrapping his long fingers around his friend's neck. Almost instantaneously, he lashes out with his claws in recourse. Lokariste releases him in time to avoid damage. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He snarls. 

"I told you to leave me alone." Lokariste settles back into the chair. "Now, are you going to?" 

"Fuck. Yeah, yeah, I'll leave you alone. Fuckin' psycho." He turns to a similarly endowed and highly scantily clad female. "Come on, Jessie." 

"Wait a second." She pats him on the shoulder and then makes her way to Lokariste. "Hey, baby." 

"Jessica, don't." 

"What's the matter? You don't want to play with us?" She wraps her arms around his neck. "The whirlpool's nice and hot…" 

Lokariste hunches his shoulder, turning to her finally. "Look, Jessica… you and I… we're good and everything… but…" 

"But what?" She pauses. "Oh, I get it. You're too good for me, is that it? 'Cause you're Glasswalker and shit?" 

"Don't start that." 

"Fine. Look, Lok, I've wasted enough time trying to nuzzle up to you. You don't want it. You don't want me." She sighs. "Fine." 

"Look… you're pure. It's… too much. It won't work. It's dangerous." 

She places her hand on her hip. "Damn right I'm pure, what the hell is that supposed to mean? God, Lok, whatever happened to rebelling? Taking chances?" 

"It's too risky." 

"You want some kinda half-breed?" She pauses. "Or worse - a human?" 

"No." 

"Thank God." Silence. "So, what do you want?" 

"Jessica…" 

"Just not me, right? Anyone but me?" 

"That's not it. Look, this isn't the time. And… you're not the one." He sighs. "Okay?" 

Jessica sighs, folding her arms, shooting a glance to the doorway. "That's nice, Lok. Real nice. Real gentle. Thanks." She growls upon leaving, her long black tresses flying behind her. Lokariste sighs. 

"Not tonight." He continues upon the keyboard, pleading to no one at all. "All I ask is _ not_ tonight." 

The doorbell. 

It might be relieving, is his first thought as he walks down the hall. In passing, he sees Jessica being comforted by the other male. He fires a sharp glare to Lokariste, and he reiterates his silent plea. 

Without much thought, he places his hand upon the knob and gives it a simple turn. 

"What… in the_ hell _ are you doing here?" 


	4. In The Clutches of Desperation pII

Elithe, mussed hair, a few scrapes across her cheek, drenched, sullied and overall filthy clothing, stands upon his doorstep - somewhat lopsided, as a heel to one of her shoes is now broken. "I…" She hasn't really prepared for this. Everything was rehearsed on the way to his place of residence. How she would find him. (The directory.) How she would get there. (Walking.) Everything but… what she might possibly say. 

Lokariste sighs, leaning against the doorjamb. "You look like hell." 

"Who's that?" His friend asks over Jessica's shoulder. Jessica is equally interested in the newcomer. Unfortunately, his friend is rather insistent and refuses to wait. "Well…" He begins, eyeing Elithe. "Well, well, well." 

Lokariste clears his throat, his tone now one of warning. "Nic…" 

"Hello, hello." Nic offers his hand to Elithe, although she declines to give it, instead seeking approval from Lokariste. He doesn't provide it. "Oh, come on, honey. I won't bite. Hard." 

Lokariste, rolling his eyes, stands in front of Nic, nearly pushing him out of the way. This action is immediately taken as a grave insult. "You should go." 

"I… can't," she admits. 

"What do you mean you can't?" 

"I mean my employer is a lying sack of shit." She looks about her, clutching her arms tightly, shivering a bit in the cold, approaching-wintry air. "He was supposed to have me on a plane Tuesday. Sure, that's… a few days away, but… I called. There's no ticket, there's no flight." She sighs, her eyes curiously pleading. "I'm stuck here." 

"Oh, I see," Nic begins. "We're dining in, huh, Lok?" 

Elithe's eyes widen with a definite horror, and they focus upon Lokariste's. She realizes now how much of a mistake this was. How foolish she had been for thinking she could come here. 

Even though she was nearing suicide, she wasn't quite there yet. Sure, she was about to be disavowed and her life was as good as over, but this… was throwing in the towel. These people - scratch, that - these _ creatures_ were not like her, and despite the strange warmth of Lokariste, he was still purely and simply an animal. And a dangerous one at that. 

"I'm going to - " 

"Hang on a second." 

"No…" Elithe is firm. "I'm going to go." 

"Please," he offers, a sense of bewilderment in his tired voice. "Just… give me one second." He pauses briefly, his last words a whisper. "And trust me." 

With this, he closes the door. Quite a tall order there. 

"Guys…" He turns to Nic and Jessica. 

"Are you holding out on us?" She begins. "Getting greedy? Sure, you haven't had any in weeks, but that doesn't mean that the first young thing that shows up on your doorstep is all yours and yours alone." 

"Yeah, Lok," Nic chimes in. "Share and share alike." 

Lokariste sighs, running his hands through his hair as he frequently does when nervous. He straightens the shirt he's wearing and points to the den. "Okay, look. I'll get everything ready and… then I'll let you know. Okay?" 

Jessica smiles. "You won't regret it, baby." 

"Yeah." He sighs. "I know." 

Nic snakes his arm around Jessica's waist. "C'mon, doll. Let's hit the pool." 

"Mmm. Sounds great." She waves playfully to Lokariste. "Bye, bye." 

He waves slowly, plainly. "Yeah… bye." 

Upon having left the room, he re-opens the door. Elithe is halfway down the street, this time, hitchhiking. He can't tell much due to the distance, but something nags at him about her demeanor. Her posture is slumped, and she's clutching so tightly to her jacket. For dear life. 

"Hey!" He calls to her, suddenly realizing he doesn't even know her name. 

"Just stay away from me, okay?" She is distraught, now he can tell. To the point where she is wiping stray tears from her eyes and cheeks. "If you come near me, I swear to God, I will kill you." Her eyes burn into his. "And I am an excellent markswoman." They are filled with a kind of pain and disappointment that he has not seen. They are remarkably… human. 

"I asked you to trust me." 

"Hah," she laughs bitterly. "Look, I'm not going to play Little Red Riding Hood, okay? Not tonight." She stumbles upon her broken shoe and curses her own vulnerability upon nearly landing into the street. She also shields her face from view. 

"Do you have a name?" 

"Yes, I have a name," she chokes. "And it's none of your business. It doesn't even matter anyway, I don't even know why I ran away." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Look, I'm not stupid. I didn't go to you for help," she sneers. "Hell, I went to you hoping that you would kill me. I'm going to die soon anyway." 

"Why do you say that?" 

"Because." She sniffles. "Because it's over, alright? It's done. The contact is dead and my employer has abandoned me." She pauses. "My sister died this way. Just a nameless star in a book that tourists get to view. Fuck." She raises her eyes to the sky. 

"I'm… I'm not reading you at all." 

She sighs. "Of course not. And… I'm glad." She pauses. "I'm Elithe." 

"Wow. That's beautiful. It… sounds like a local." 

She glares to him, her breath visible within the air. "Don't butter me up, okay? Just get it done quickly or something, but… away from your friends, okay?" 

He cannot believe what he is hearing; she is practically - no, she is - offering herself unabashedly to him. What kind of dire circumstances could ever bring a human being to do such a thing? It boggles his mind beyond reason. 

"Elithe," he marvels at its melody and the ease with which it rolls off of his tongue. "Elithe, you… you have nothing to fear." 

She is lost within her own little world. "It sounds local because my parents were strange. My sister knew this place. I don't know if they did. They were… mages or something. Magicians. It went straight to her, nothing to me. I'm as plain as they come." She stares off into the distance, never meeting his gaze. 

"You're not plain." 

She exhales nervously into the wind. "Maybe if you shoot me. It's more painless between the eyes. And it's surefire. The subject dies instantly." She sighs. "I was shipwrecked coming over here. My luggage was lost. That includes my cyanide, or, I would have done that already." Finally, she looks to him. "Do you know where I can get some cyanide? Around here?" 

He closes his eyes. "Look, I'm not going to kill you." 

"You have to! Damn it, if you don't, then what the hell are you good for?" She shivers against the cold, her eyes still upon the desolate road. "What the hell am I good for…" she murmurs under her breath. 

Her eyes down to the ground, Lokariste approaches with a rather uncharacteristic embrace. Her first inclination is to fight it, but the warmth is too longed for. It's intoxicating against her chilled skin. 

"If you really want to kill yourself, stay out here. You'll get pneumonia." 

"I don't want pneumonia," she shivers. "I want to go home." 

He sighs, resting his chin upon her head. He tries to avoid the strange security the scent of her hair offers his soul. 


	5. Matters of Trust

Once back through the door of his loft, Lokariste immediately senses his contemporaries approaching, and reacts by disappearing with Elithe into a nearby coat closet. Shortly thereafter, Jessica convinces Nic that he must have heard the wind. Lokariste said that he would be returning soon, and he would. He wouldn't lie. Not to them. 

Inside the closet, the contents of their breath mingling in the air, he begins to count the individual lies he has told throughout the evening thus far. And to whom. 

Elithe, rather startled by the sudden action, is equally surprised and alarmed by her dangerously close proximity to one so previously feared. She opens her mouth to speak and he silences her with a single finger. The salt of his perspiration remains upon her lips, and she exhales markedly. 

"Ssh," is all that he offers. 

"I think they left," she replies after a time. 

"I think you're right." 

Elithe attempts to squirm, but it is of very little use. There is not an inch of space between them, and the intimacy is growing stifling. "I have to get out of here." 

"Why?" 

"I…" She maneuvers to look to where she suspects his eyes may be. They have a strange glow within the pitch-blackness. "I have to get out of here." 

He pauses. "It's me, isn't it?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"I don't trust you." 

"Fine." 

Lokariste opens the door, politely extending a hand to her. Cautiously, she takes it. 

"Well," Nic says, appearing from the kitchen. "This is cute. You call this ready, Lok?" Lokariste sighs while his peer continues. "Mmm, you certainly do look nice. A bit lacking on the protein though. Not a whole lot of meat on you, is there?" 

Elithe reaches for the gun, but Nic's hand immediately halts her movement. 

"I don't think so, honey." He turns to Lokariste. "Well, buddy, you had your chance. Sorry, I'm tired of waiting around." 

Watching the dramas unfold, Elithe comes to realize that the best definition for her acquaintance might very well by silent but deadly. 

Lokariste, without the slightest indication or sound, immediately takes firm hold of Elithe, tossing her toward the hall, and reels back for a terrifying swipe toward Nic. Startled, but quickly prepared for the onslaught, Nic returns with his own sort of retaliation, and the two gentlemen engage in battle. 

"Elithe, go!" Is all he can offer. Jessica appears suddenly from around the corner, an unwelcoming glint to her eye. Elithe runs down the hall and quickly finds herself in the only available room - full of wires and technological gadgets. "And lock the door!" Just in time, too. Jessica angrily claws at the wood paneling, frustrated in her sudden defeat. She leaves Elithe with a memorable snarl. 

Jessica returns to the main room and claws at Lokariste's back. He grimaces and turns to Jessica and Nic goes in for the kill. It becomes immediately evident now that they had been in some sort of intrigue all along; they were both too intimately familiar with one another in this way. They had clearly hunted together among other things. 

Furious, Lokariste swipes Jessica's face with a blunt hand. She is sent clearly against the door behind them, and fires a look to Nic which he heeds instantly. 

"You fucked up," is all he says, wiping his bloodied nose with the back of his hand. 

"No, I'm just blind. Get the hell out of here." 

"Baby, let's go," Jessica says, pulling at Nic's shirttail. 

"After you." His eyes do not leave Lokariste's until they have both left the premises. 

Elithe emerges from the hall to see Lokariste's hand against the door. She quietly opens her mouth to speak. "I'm… sorry." 

"It's okay." He sighs. "I'm just stupid." He walks to the living room and collapses into a chair. "Friends. Fuck that." 

She settles into one across from him. "Are you hurt?" 

He looks down at a few gashes across his forearms and one slight scrape upon his cheek. "I'll live." 

She nods. As moved as she is to helping him, she is not yet for certain that this entire scheme is not an elaborate ruse to result in her demise. Not that it matters much any longer. 

"You know, you're really paranoid." 

"What makes you say that?" 

"You're so nervous, on-edge, freaked out. Just calm down. Maybe I can even help you so that you don't have a death-wish. Ever think of that?" He dabs one wound with a cocktail napkin. She winces. "Afterall, you've got that disc." 

"How'd you know?" 

"I saw it." He pauses. "May I see it? I have something to read it with." 

"I saw." 

He nods. "So?" 

She sighs, placing her hands upon her legs and rising. "I guess it can't hurt." She approaches him with the disc, he examines it, and the two walk back to the technologically significant room. 

"This is one hell of a mecca." 

"Thanks," he says absent-mindedly inserting the disc into a drive. "I'm a Glasswalker. City garou. I make my living as… well, as a hacker." 

"They have those here?" 

"You bet." He rests his elbow against the desk chair arm and eyes the screen carefully. In this sort of position, he appears nearly harmless. Helpful. Not menacing and cruel. 

"Did you mean what you said?" 

"When?" 

"About the… everything. About me, about… killing me?" 

He pauses for a moment, unsure of how to answer. Finally, he swivels the chair to face her momentarily. "No. I'm not sadistic. Like you, I prefer it short and sweet. Painless." 

"So… you _ have_ killed. You… _ do_ kill." 

"It's in my nature." 

"Humans?" 

He shrugs. "You take what you can get." 

"I… don't know how to take that." 

"I know." He pauses. "Look, I said all that because I knew it would terrify you - or at least, I hoped it would." 

"Why?" 

"To avoid the temptation. Why else?" 

She flexes her fingers nervously against the chair arms, rising. "Look… if all I am is… a means to an end to you… I'd rather you not try to help me." 

"No, I know what you're going to ask, and no." 

"What? What am I going to ask?" 

"Am I consistently sitting here fantasizing about you in such a way that it would disturb both of us. No. I'm not." 

"Oh." She relaxes a bit. Providing he speaks the truth. "Then… why do you seem so preoccupied?" 

Silence. It's never a good sign. 

Lokariste stretches his own long fingers and runs them roughly through his hair. He yawns, stretches, and sighs. 

"Well?" 

"Nobody ever said I don't fantasize about other things." She looks to the floor, straightens her thoroughly wrinkled skirt a bit, and scratches her chin. "So," he concludes, drumming the chair. "Yeah, okay, your file here…" 

"Yes?" 

"It's going to take a little time." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean…" He looks at his watch. 3:16 am. "I mean I'll be more able to attack it with a clear head in the morning. Usually, this is my peak time, but… it's been a rough night." 

She nods. "Okay. Well, ah, I'll see you tomorrow then?" She stands. 

"Not exactly." He rises with her, and they stand directly opposite one another. The curious heat in the room is almost stifling. "Down the hall is another room. It's a guest room." 

"I couldn't." 

"You're not going back out there." 

She pauses. It would be an awfully stupid decision to make. Going back out there was not exactly what she itches to do. 

Elithe sighs, giving in after a short time. "Okay. Lead the way." 

As they continue down the hall, Elithe takes careful note of his many features. He turns to her infrequently, sometimes giving a quiet grin as a result of acknowledging the scrutiny. She turns away. 

"Okay, here's the room. There's a bathroom over there. You can lock this door and it encloses the bathroom as well. If you need anything, well, try to fend for yourself. There's a lot available to you." He scratches his head. "Oh yeah, and when I say lock the door, I mean it. I'm not kidding." 

This came as a rather strange request. "I don't understand." 

He sighs. "Elithe, look, I've said what I said, and I mean all of it. But. And here's where things get… complicated. You already heard what you've heard, and it's true. It's been a long time for me - a long time. I'm…" He pauses. "I'm a bit unstable, okay? There, I said it. Now, here and now, you're fine. You're safe. I have a good grip on things, but… the more tired I become, and the less of a hold I have on my more emotional side…" 

She looks plainly into his conflicted eyes. "Lokariste, is there a possibility that you're still going to try and kill me?" 

Again, he runs his fingers through his hair, closes his eyes, turns the other way, yawns… in other words, avoids all discussion of the issue. 

"I really don't want to," is his reply. He sighs, and ends the early morning chat with, "I'm sorry, Elithe." He then heads quietly back down the hallway, disappearing around the corner. It is as if he is reviewing each word spoken within his mind. 

Elithe stands silent and still at the doorway, her hand upon the knob. Finally, with a most curious emotion, she closes it and pulls the lock tightly into place. As it clicks, she closes her eyes, a bit forlorn that she should have to trust someone who may still take her life. And further still, that he is plagued with such internal affliction. 

However, it wouldn't be until later that morning that she would know how much.  
  



	6. Not Like This

"Elithe?" First, it was faint. "Elithe?" Now, it was adamant. 

"Lokariste?" She murmurs, slowly rising from the bed. 

He can sense her hand upon the doorknob. "Don't!" She immediately withdraws her hand. "Whatever you do, leave the door closed. And locked. Don't open it for any reason." 

"I don't understand…" 

His voice is pained. "Goddamn it, just listen to me! Okay? Keep it locked!" 

"…Alright." 

"Just… just listen to me from the other side, okay?" 

"…Okay." 

"Okay." He is breathing heavily. "Okay, I've wanted to say this since I saw you, but I can't. You want to know why I've been playing guardian angel? I don't know. You intrigue me somehow, you… you make me want to be something I'm not… and… that hurts, Elithe, it really hurts." He slams his fist against the door. 

"Lokariste - " 

"Please don't interrupt me." Silence. "Okay, so… so it hurts, Elithe, and… here I am, and I barely know you, but… but I've stuck my neck out what, three times now? And I even took on Nic because of you. Now, that says something." 

And she still feels ill because of it. Nonetheles, with her cheek against the door, she listens with a silent longing to be upon the other side. 

"And… I can't explain why. Jessica was ribbing me about half-breeds, but I know that isn't right. I don't want to settle down yet, so that isn't right. Is it? It can't be. That can't be right." He continues in a hysterical stream of consciousness. "But there's something about you, Elithe, that I just can't put my finger on, and it's driving me crazy. I… I don't know how I want you. I'm afraid if I touch you, I'll tear you to shreds." He pauses, leaning against the door, suddenly out of breath. "God, I want to touch you." 

She closes her eyes, pushing back tears. It had what, a few days? And already she felt as if she had known this - creature - all of her life. This creature. No, it was still too much to accept. It was still something that could somehow never be. 

She presses her hand up against the cold wood of the door and sighs softly to herself. "So do I." 

She hears him rise and exit from beyond the door. "Lokariste?" She asks after a time. She tries meekly once more before finally debating upon turning the lock. 

It's at that precise moment that she is thrown violently backwards from the impact upon the door from the other side. The lock remains intact, but the most horrible scraping, clawing and pounding exists upon the other side of the door. She is both terrified and overcome with sorrow. These are the thrashings of a lunatic. One who is not in full possession of his faculties. And yet, she is powerless against her compassion for him. 

"Please…" she whimpers softly. "_Please _stop." 

"You don't get it, do you?" He calls out, a cruel edge to his raspy voice. "I can't!" And he thrashes ever more forcefully, nearly knocking the door from its hinges. 

"You can!" 

"I can't!" goes the argument. "And I won't!" He appears to be crying. "Don't open the door. For God's sake, Elithe, _ stay away from the door_!" 

Upon the other side, she cries softly to herself, a spectrum of emotion welling inside of her. She glances briefly to her gun setting upon the nightstand. It would take a single shot. Just a single shot to put them both out of this misery. 

She rises from the bed instead. 

"Lokariste?" 

"Get _away_!" 

"_Lokariste_…!" 

The tears are quite evident now. "Damn it, Elithe, I told you - " 

But she is unwilling to listen. First, she unlatches the lock, secondly the turns the knob. Upon opening the door, she is greeted by the sudden, unsuspecting, terrified blow of Lokariste's flexed palm and fingers. 

Three lacerations spread across her neck, and she falls dumbly to her knees. 

Startled, and apparently out of his sudden rage, with the tears still blinding his vision, Lokariste kneels to her. "Oh, God, oh, God," he murmurs repetitively. "Oh, God, _Elithe_?" He shivers and trembles with this newfound sort of fear. 

Elithe stares blankly out of half-raised eyelids. Her deep violet eyes focus upon nothing. 

"Elithe!" He shrieks, now frightening himself. He fumbles to receive a response from her. "For God's sake, _ why _didn't you keep the door _closed_!" 

She responds somewhat feebly, "I'm sorry. I couldn't." 

"Damn it! Goddamn it, why?" It is pained. 

"I… was too moved to help… you. By your… pain…" Her eyes slowly move to glance at him. She smiles strangely. Oddly content. Bizarrely serene. 

"Oh, no… oh, no, _no_, you don't." He struggles to prop her against his bicep, and set her comfortably across his lap while using a portable telephone to call for help. 

Shortly thereafter, "stay with me, Elithe. Don't go anywhere… okay? Goddamn it… stay here!" His voice hits uneven tones he didn't know existed within it. He cannot believe he could be so frightened, so completely frightened - and so quickly. It seems an impossibility. "Elithe, _ come on_…" Nothing, now. No response whatsoever. Her eyes focus again upon the nothingness, and her mouth remains slightly open. No breath travels past her drying lips. 

"No, damn it, _no_!" Suddenly lowering his mouth onto hers, he begins to supply a life-giving sustenance; breathing into her in such a manner that she may once more regain life of her own. Curiously, it works. She chokes, and gasps, now pulling full respiration upon her own, her eyes turning questioningly to his. 

"Why…" 

Once more, he places a finger against her lips. "I don't know. All I know is you're _ not _ going to die here. And not now. This damned town has already claimed one of your lives; it's not taking another, do you hear me? You _ will not_ die here… and not by my hand…" She reaches up, weakly and touches with her fingertip a tear upon his cheek. Sirens echo in the distance nearing toward them, and Lokariste rises with her gingerly in his arms. 

The last thing she sees is the black of the night sky and the full moon in sole possession of it.  



	7. As Sleeping Thoughts of You Lie Silently...

Elithe rises suddenly from a medic's bed. She struggles to clutch her neck, but hands restrain her - hands belonging to Lokariste. 

"It's okay. It's bandaged. Let it heal." 

Slowly, she lowers her arms back. "How long have I been here?" 

"We've been here for four hours." 

"We?" 

"I haven't left. Not even for a second." 

"Guilt." 

"No." 

Elithe nods, lowering her head back to the pillow. 

"You never should have opened the door." 

"You made me want to," is all she says, staring to the ceiling. 

"How? Why? Thrashing around like that?" 

"You were in obvious pain. Obvious pain and you wanted comfort. You needed it. I… wanted to help you." 

"I nearly killed you." 

"Surprise, surprise." 

He folds his hands. "I can teach you a lot, Elithe." 

"About what?" It is sarcastic. 

"About a lot of things. Who you are, for one. I'm sorry I didn't mention this before, but it _doesn't _ skip children, endowing one sibling and leaving the other behind." 

"I don't want to be different." 

"Sometimes it's not a choice." 

She raises her head. "Lokariste, ever since I've met you, I've been thrown against a wall three times, nearly died in a fire, been petrified, tossed in a closet, run down a hall to escape an evil - what is it? Oh, garou, that's right. To escape an evil garou - and now this lovely incident." 

"What's your point?" 

"My point is…" She rises fully to meet his eyes. They are still filled with the same fear and pain as before. The same emotion that she dreads wholeheartedly. "I don't know what my point is. I want to hate you. I want to leave you. And just... dissappear." 

"Why don't you?" 

She sighs. "I don't know. You're all I've got? And that's actually a lot? Perhaps. I don't know. I'm drugged. I could be speaking gibberish." 

He rises from the chair nearby and walks back toward her. "But you're not. And you sound pretty rational to me." Slowly, cautiously, he takes her hand within his. It is so peculiarly soft and gentle compared to the course strength of his own. And small. It's so… small. "I don't know how to apologize. It's not enough. There's nothing I could say that would be justification for… this. For everything." 

"Well, I could get to the bottom of all of this. With your help." 

"For starters. We have to get everything worked out, and then find a way to get you back home." Elithe nods slowly, taking a large breath and exhales accordingly. As careful as before, he now raises the hand to her cheek, holding it gently within his palm. Startled, but accepting of the gesture, she leans into it. "I'm not going to let your life get away from you, Elithe. And especially not here." 

She closes her eyes, grinning softly and reopens them shortly thereafter. "Thank you, Lokariste. I'll never forget you; ever. That's a promise." 

He laughs softly, even his eyes brightening. He brings her hand to his lips, and grins. "And a threat." 


	8. Lost

Sunday morning, Elithe awakens to the sound of the digital alarm. Her hand lands softly upon the nightstand. Upon a book. A book? She turns to it, apparently quite worn, leather-bound, expensive. She rises gingerly, minding carefully her neck and the bandages. One hand upon them, the other, the book, she walks groggily past the main room into the direction of what might only be known 'the room upon which technology descended grandly'. Lokariste, however, refers only to it as the computer room. Elithe finds is muggy and abnormally wire-infested.

"Hey." But curiously, he did not seem to be there this morning.

"Morning." She raises the book in silent question. "Mages?"  
  
"Yeah." He rises and walks to her. "I figured it might help you understand a bit of your past." He pauses. "Although, Mage-Garou relations aren't always the most… accepted. So, you might not want to rush home and say, 'Mom! Dad! Guess who I met in Rhydin?'"  
  
Elithe settles into the nearby chair. "I haven't seen my parents since I was very young. In fact, I often question whether or not it's memory or dream." She begins to flip through the pages, and Lokariste stands adjacent to her. He offers his hand gently upon her shoulder.   
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Oh, well…" She pauses, and finally shrugs. "What can you do?"  
  
He kneels upon the floor next to her, peering at the book himself. "If it's any consolation, I have no desire to know my father."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"He raped my mother."  
  
"… Good reason." She flips another page.  
  
"He belongs to the most bloodthirsty of tribes, the Get of Fenris. Those who believe that all humanity should be destroyed. One… by one."  
  
"Sounds like a charming group."  
  
He smirks. "My mother, on the other hand, was an enlightened Stargazer. She believed in the delicate balance of things. To not bring ill-will to any living thing. The pursuit of knowledge."  
  
"Now she seems to have the right idea." He nods. "I… thought I overheard something about… glass, or… walking…"  
  
"Glasswalkers. It's the tribe I belong to."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"City dwellers."  
  
"No, I mean why not your mother's?"  
  
He laughs a bit. "The Glasswalkers wanted me. After my first… change, as they call it – when I came to realize who and what I truly was, well, I'd already been living my life as a human for so long, it came as quite a shock."  
  
Elithe temporarily closes the book, perching it upon her lap. "What happened? How did you know?"  
  
"Well… I got angry… very angry. They call it Rage – capital "R" – and… I didn't know how to deal with it. My instincts just… took control." Mental images of that night flash throughout his mind, and he nearly grows weak from the imagery.  
  
She extends a hand. "Are you okay?"   
  
"Yeah." He looks deeply into her eyes momentarily.   
  
"What's wrong? Lokariste, what's the matter?"  
  
He sighs. "I acted like my father. It's… like a cancer inside of me. It's wretched, and it feels as if it's slowly killing me." He shakes his head violently. "I can't get rid of it. I try to deny it, not to give into it – that just makes it worse. It just fuels the desire." Elithe stares cautiously into his eyes. "I wish I could fight it. Be rid of it. But it's just a fucking part of me." He rises and walks to the kitchen. Elithe stares blankly ahead. He returns with a glass of water. "I don't like hunting, but the alternative to it is… I go insane. And instead of it being satiated in these… methodical times, it comes out in unplanned, reckless bursts of violent activity. Especially where I do not want it to." He pauses. "Toward people I don't want to hurt."  
  
Elithe lightly touches the bandage across her neck and smirks. "Really."  
  
He sighs. "I'm a loner. And this is why. My so-called friends said that something was wrong with me. I wouldn't go on the hunt. I stayed inside. I stayed away from people, damn it!" He throws the glass across the room, and it shatters against the wall behind her. "This is why!" Elithe briefly clutches her chest, eyes the glass, and then him. "This is why."  
  
Elithe sighs. "You're no worse than a human with bipolar disorder."  
  
"I'm a lot worse than that," he replies with a noticeable sneer. "Problem is, I'm a bit unstable."  
  
"Really?"  
  
His brow descends menacingly over his half-moon eye. "You're not helping this."  
  
Elithe begins to rises, but is halted. "Look, Lokariste – "  
  
"Maybe if I were trained," he continues, lost in his own world. "Maybe if I'd been instructed. But I was too old. Seventeen. That's too old. As a result, I'm sort of Lost."  
  
"Lost?"  
  
"Abandoned. Left behind. Hell, Glasswalkers found me. They said that I had 'attributes' which might be 'useful' to them." He sighs, lighting a cigarette. "I told them to fuck off."  
  
"And?"  
  
"They didn't." He takes a relaxing drag. "Pure and simple."  
  
"So… you're plagued with the same sort of vices that most human beings are. As a result of your… problems."  
  
"Don't play shrink with me, Elithe. I hate that." He stretches his neck. "But yeah, you could say that."  
  
"Alcohol? Cigarettes? Drugs?" She pauses. "…Sex?"  
  
He crooks a brow, exhaling. "Drugs, no. Sex, not often. Cigarettes…" He holds his current in view. "Uhm, alcohol, yeah." He takes another drag. "More like, booze, tobacco, and murder." He pauses. "Used to be." He fires a sarcastic glance. "I'm 'trying to quit.'"  
  
"I see." She laughs. "One day at a time."  
  
"Don't get me started."  
  
"So. How long?"  
  
Lokariste sighs, beginning to collect the shards of glass, his cigarette between his teeth. "How long what?"  
  
"Since you've…"  
  
"Oh, that." He rises. "Eight months."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Yeah." He disappears into the kitchen with the dust-pan. "I'm going crazy. Literally."  
  
"So, one vice for another."  
  
He returns. "Do you really have an objection?" It is more of a statement than anything, and they both knew she didn't.


End file.
